


The Last Person on Earth (version A)

by bluebellsandcocklesshells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, Sex Work, use of roofies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6746899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebellsandcocklesshells/pseuds/bluebellsandcocklesshells





	The Last Person on Earth (version A)

“Are you kidding me?” Cas grumbled.  “Twenty-two hundred dollars?  The car isn’t even worth that much.” 

The mechanic shrugged and wiped his hands off on a greasy rag.  “I’m not going to dispute the worth of the car, but the cost to get it running again is twenty-two hundred dollars for parts and labor.  Honestly, son, you’d be better off just buying a new used car. There are so many mismatching parts in there—I’m not even sure how it was ever running in the first place.” 

Cas sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A phone rang from the interior of the shop.

 “I’ve gotta get that,” the mechanic said.  “You take a moment to consider it.  I can also scrap the car for you if you like.”

 The mechanic left Cas and his new best friend—her declaration—Charlie, out in the bay.  They looked at Cas’ car where it was propped up sadly on hydraulic lifts. Charlie put a hand on his shoulder.

 “You might have to retire this one, buddy.”

 Cas groaned.  “But I didn’t budget this into my finances.  If I put this on a credit card I’ll be paying it off for months—plus interest. And I can’t not have a car, so if I ditch it I’m going to have to pay for a new one somehow.  Even if I can find another clunker for cheap, it’ll probably still be two thousand dollars or so.”

 “So, what did you do before?  Take it to some kind of black market underground mechanic who lost his license and had to work for the mafia?”

 Cas attempted to give her an amused smile, but he was too distressed about his situation to manage much.

 “My ex-boyfriend was a mechanic.  Or well, he knew how to fix cars.  And he would fix mine for free.  And he saved money on parts by scavenging them from other cars and jury-rigging them to work in mine.”

 “Nice boyfriend.”

 Cas made a face.  “Not so nice,” he muttered.

 “Did I ever meet him?”

 “No.  We broke up about a year before you even moved here.”

 “Was it a bad break up?  I mean, could you ask him to help with the car now?  Maybe if he can do the parts scavenging thing it’ll cost less.”

 Cas narrowed his eyes as he stared at his car.

 “Dean Winchester is the last person on earth I would ever call for help.”

 ~~~

 “This is Dean,” the man said, crunching on something loudly over the phone.

 “Dean,” Cas said quietly, dejectedly, “I need your help.”

 

~~One Hour Earlier~~

 Cas knew he shouldn’t be here.  It was stupid and it was dangerous, but he’d burned his bridge at the only safe place to do this kind of thing about a year and a half ago. He also hadn’t attempted to do this in a year and a half, but it couldn’t be any harder than falling off a bike. Or wait, what was the expression?

He forced that banal distraction from his mind because being distracted in a club like Whiskers was a very dumb idea.  And yeah Whiskers was a stupid name for a club, but that just meant that most people thought it was a crazy cat lady’s coffee clutch, or maybe a gay bar.  Nobody suspected that it was a haven for the BDSM crowd.  Well, no, not haven.  That was Sanctuary, which was a club two towns over that had strict rules and safety precautions in place.

 Whiskers had none of that.  It was seedy and doubled as a drug den and was where people went when they wanted to find other reckless—or desperate—people to do bad things with.  Cas was in the desperate category tonight.  He knew that two or three sessions with some newbs would probably earn him at least half the cost of repairing his car.  He also knew that one session with the right kind of sadist could pay for the whole thing.  But he’d never crossed the line into actually having sex for money before.  He couldn’t really be that desperate, could he?

 He stood at the bar, nursing a beer as he tried to make up his mind.  He wasn’t adverse to going into a back room and letting some guys paddle or flog him until they were satisfied, but there were tons of people willing to do that at Whiskers—and a lot of them willing to be beaten bloody which Cas was not up for. He wouldn’t be able to find someone who would pay much, especially since some people offered their bodies up for simple spankings for free.  The only thing he had going for him was that he was attractive enough that people would be willing to pay to damage something pretty.

 “Hey, buddy—”

 “What?” Cas snapped at the bartender.

 The man raised his pierced eyebrow and gave Cas a hard look.  Then he gave him a mean smile.

 “Never mind.  Just wanted to know if you wanted a new beer.  But you go ahead and finish that one.”

 Cas rolled his eyes and chugged half the beer spitefully and then looked back out over the crowd that was barely distinguishable in the dark and occasional flashing lights.  The music was mind-numbingly loud and it was impossible to tell if the girl in the corner getting her nipples cruelly twisted by one man while another fucked her from behind was screaming in pleasure or for help.  He saw a man pass by him with a teal handkerchief in his left pocket.  Using handkerchiefs for sexual preferences code wasn’t that common anymore and in the poor lighting he wasn’t entirely sure it had been teal—but it looked like that man was a cock and ball torturer.  He might be willing to pay, and more than likely wouldn’t want actual intercourse.  Those type of men got off on making another man somewhat regret being a man. Depending on how much he was willing to pay, it might be okay to do it once.

 Cas finished off the rest of his beer and was about to follow the teal handkerchief when a man next to him put his hand on his arm. He leaned in close to be heard over the music and said, “How much for a fuck?”

 Cas hesitated.  That’s why he was here, wasn’t it?  Being faced with a sudden proposition though made him realize he couldn’t go through with it.  He wasn’t even sure if he could go through with a little kinky roleplay like he used to. After all, that’s why he’d gotten in trouble and banished from Sanctuary.  He’d been angry and hurt and made a scene and pissed off the owner and been told not to come back for at least three years.  He just couldn’t do it anymore.  So, he certainly couldn’t go through with having sex with someone for money.

 Cas shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, but he had to take a moment as his vision swam.  He felt like he’d moved his head, but his brain hadn’t quite followed the movement.  He leaned forward to talk to the man, and lost his balance and fell against him.

 “Ah, eager, huh?  Wanna do it for free?”

 “N-no.  No thank you.”

 Cas put a hand to his head.  Something was wrong.  He looked at his empty beer bottle—the one he’d turned his back on for long stretches at a time as he’d scanned the room.  The man he was leaning against had an arm around him and a hand fondling an ass cheek through his pants.  He pushed against him slightly, but the man got him off the barstool and another man grabbed his other arm to help him walk.  His head was getting worse and his limbs felt heavy and useless.  The men were taking him out of the club.  That meant they wanted more than just the thrill of fucking an unconscious body: they wanted to hurt him.

 When they pushed through the crowd at the exit, Cas used the last of his functioning brain to pretend to go meekly with them. Their grip loosened just enough that he was able to slip free and shove his way into the crowd.  If anyone shouted a complaint he didn’t hear it. He stumbled and grabbed onto to people as he moved, circling back to the door after only going back four or five people deep in the crush.  He saw the men chasing him follow after a wave in the crowd resulting from some other club goer passing out and falling to the floor.

 Cas made his way back to the exit in a haze and staggered down the alleyway beside the building.  He hadn’t gone out the front door which would have at least put him on a main thoroughfare even though the club was pretty much in the worst part of the worst part of town.  He made it to the corner where he could see a street and sat down in a pile of garbage bags. He lost his balance and fell back into the trash.  He didn’t mind.  He was hidden.

 He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his throbbing head lucid enough to be grateful he still had it.  It was nearly impossible to concentrate on the screen or understand the names or faces next to the contacts.  He knew he couldn’t call his brother or sister to come get him because they would tell his parents and he could not explain any of this to them and expect to survive the mortification.  He couldn’t call Balthazar because he was on vacation in Europe. He couldn’t call Charlie or any of his other female friends—or hell, even most of his male friends—because it was too dangerous for them to come down here.  Even if they came in a group they would be running a very real risk of being mugged or sexually assaulted.  Or both.

 Why the hell had he come down here?  For two thousand dollars?  Was his life worth no more than two grand?  The bricks on the wall behind him pushed out and fell on his head.  He struggled and flailed against them, and then realized nothing was falling.  He collapsed back on the ground, exhausted. His head lolled on the wet, dirty ground and he knew he wasn’t going to be conscious for much longer.  He picked up his phone again and tried to concentrate. All he could do was scroll with his thumb using muscle memory.  All the way to W.  He did force himself to focus one last time to make sure that he didn’t call Sam, and hit the button.

 “This is Dean,” his ex-boyfriend said, the crunching in Cas’ ear making mini explosions go off in his head.

 Cas hesitated.  Part of him would rather die or just let those men find him and abuse him than to admit where he was and what had happened to Dean.  He was such a dick.  Did he want to put up with his self-righteous—a bottle clinked and then broke on the ground. Cas’ heart jumped to his throat.

 “Dean, I need your help.”

 “Who is this?”

 “It’s Cas,” he whispered, annoyed that the man didn’t recognize his voice anymore.

 “Cas who?”

 “Fuck you, Dean.  Quit it.  I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

 “Oh, _you_ don’t have time for _my_ bullshit.  That’s interesting considering—”

 “Dean, I’m serious.  I need help.  And not like in a stranded on the side of the road kind of help but I’m about to be murdered kind of help.”

 “What?”  Something spilled in the background—it sounded suspiciously like a bag of Cheetos skittering across a wood floor.  “Where are you?  What’s going on?”

 “I’m in an alley behind Whiskers.”

 “Whiskers?  The hell is Whiskers?”

 “It’s a club.  It’s on Google Maps.  I’m in the alley off of Ferndale.”

 “And you want me to do what?”

 “Please come get me?”

 Dean snorted.  “Too drunk to drive home?  Take a cab.”

 “I can’t…I’m…”  The rush of anger from dealing with Dean had cleared his head for a moment, but it was fading fast.  “Got roofied, Dean.  I’m in a pile of trash in an alley.  I can’t get up.  I can’t call Bal…”

 Cas looked up.  The fire escape over his head cut the sky into ribbons.  It swirled around him.  There was noise in his ear.  He couldn't quite make out what it was saying, but it didn’t matter because darkness was creeping in around the edges of his vision and it was just much easier to succumb to it.

 “ _Castiel_.”

 Cas’ eyes fluttered open.  He knew that voice.

 “Dean?  Why are you here?”

 “Son of a bitch.  Just hang on, babe, I’m coming.”

 Castiel was confused.  Dean hadn’t called him babe in a very long time.  He must be dreaming.  That explained it.  He’d fallen asleep and he was having a nightmare.  Anything involving Dean was a nightmare.  So why did he feel less afraid?  Why did he feel relieved knowing Dean was near?  But Dean wasn’t near.  Dean lived in a completely different town.  Dean hadn’t spoken to him in a year and a half.  Castiel let unconsciousness take him because if he didn’t, he knew he was going to start crying.

~~~

Castiel became aware that he was awake without opening his eyes.  He was on something soft, clutching something that was soft and warm and smelled familiar in the best fucking way.  His head throbbed.  It didn’t feel like a hangover, but it felt like something had done something very nasty to his poor brain.  He reluctantly peeked his eyes open and found himself looking at a nightstand and a wall. The clock on the nightstand said that it was after twelve.  Based on the sunlight in the room, it must be noon.  The soft thing he was on was a bed.  The soft thing he held was a pillow in a grey pillowcase.  He turned his head and buried his nose into it, inhaling deeply. Memories tickled at the back of his brain, fighting against the throb that refused to let him think properly.

 Dean.  The pillow smelled like his boyfriend, Dean.  Cas smiled and hugged it tighter.  He remembered lazing about in bed with Dean on weekends, eating cereal and laughing.  Spilling milk on the sheets and then deciding since the sheets would have to be washed anyway they might as well get them sweaty and dirty with—but Dean wasn’t his boyfriend.  They broke up.  Though that was too nice a term for it.  They broke up and he hadn’t seen him in over a year, so why would he be holding a pillow that smelled like him?

 Last night plowed into his brain like an out of control truck.  The mechanic’s bill, the stupid decision to earn a little cash at a BDSM club that had no rules, getting roofied at the bar, escaping his attackers, falling into a pile of trash, making a phone call…

 Cas turned over and saw Dean Winchester enter the room with a glass of water in his hand.

 “Oh, my God.”

 “Well, I can see how you’d make that mistake from your perspective.”  Dean gave him a smirk.

 Cas fell back onto the bed and put a hand over his eyes.  The glass made a soft thump as Dean set it on the nightstand.

 “Here’s some water and some Advil.  I’ve got some left over Chinese if you think you need to eat something.  Otherwise, I think you should take the pills and go.”

 Cas nodded.  “Yes.  I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.”

 “Debatable.  I did find you passed out in an alleyway.  As badly as everything ended, I wouldn’t want you to die.”

 Cas took his hand off his eyes and glared at Dean. “That’s not what you said before.”

 “I was mad,” Dean said, digging through a drawer in his bureau.  “I didn’t mean it.  But I had just found out that you were cheating on me.”

 “Oh, my God!” Cas shouted and pulled on his hair with both hands.  “I didn’t cheat on you!”

 “Yes, you did, Cas,” Dean said as he slammed the drawer shut.  “By my definition you did.”

 “There was no sex!  There was no emotional connection!  I let a guy tie me to a wall and spank me with a paddle and got two hundred dollars for it.  It was just a job!”

 “A job?!  Are you fucking kidding me?!  If it was just a job you wouldn’t have hidden it from me.”

 “It’s not something you lead with in a conversation! Strippers don’t introduce themselves as ‘Hi, I’m Roxie.  I’m a stripper.  Want to get a coffee?’”

 “Do not compare what you did with stripping, Cas. It is not the fucking same.”

 “Yes, it is!”

 “Not to me and that’s all that matters.”

 “God, you are such a prude!  You know what?  We’re not dating anymore so I’m not having this fight again.  I can’t.”

 Cas moved to get out of bed and then quickly sat back down and pulled the covers over his lap.

 “Where are my clothes?”

 “In the dryer.”

 “You undressed me?”

 “You were lying in a dirty pile of trash in a filthy alleyway.  I wasn’t going to let that get all over my sheets.”

 “You could have dumped me on the couch or the floor. Hell, you could have dropped me off at my building entrance and let me sleep it off there.”

 “Okay, fine.  The next time I find you nearly dead in a ditch I’ll just drop you off in a different ditch to sleep it off.  Actually, you know what?  Next time I won’t bother to come.”

 He flung the boxers he’d pulled out of the bureau at Cas and they hit him square in the face.  When Cas pulled the garment off his head, all he saw was Dean’s back as he stomped out of the room.  Cas groaned and fell back onto the mattress.

 This had all happened a year and a half ago. Hell, close to two years now.  Why did it still feel like it had happened yesterday?  Why did Dean’s disgust still make him feel like his heart was bleeding out of the gaping wound in his chest?  He needed to leave.

 Cas struggled to sit up again and pulled on the boxers.  He ignored how familiar it felt to be wearing shorts that were just slightly big on him. He tossed back the pills and drank the whole glass of water.  He wandered out of the bedroom and found the bathroom.  This apartment wasn’t the same one Dean used to live in.  It was a little bit bigger, but still only a one bedroom one bathroom apartment.  He peed, washed his face, and rinsed out his mouth with some Listerine.  He looked at himself in the mirror.  He had dark bags under his eyes, but otherwise looked okay.  No bruises, no marks, no injuries.  Probably because Dean had saved him.

 He walked to the front of the apartment and saw Dean in the kitchen glaring angrily at his waffle iron.  From the smell of things, something must be cooking in it.

 “I thought all you had is Chinese,” Cas said.

 “No, I offered _you_ Chinese. _I’m_ eating waffles.”

 Cas huffed in aggravation.  “Fine.  Just give me my clothes and I’ll go.  I don’t need to eat anything.”

 “Even better.”

 “So where are my clothes?”

 Dean rolled his eyes and stomped away from the kitchen and to the door.

 “Where are you going?” Cas asked.

 “To get your clothes.  The laundry is in the basement.”

 “I can go—”

 “No, I don’t want you wandering naked around my building.  I’ll get them.  You just watch that waffle and don’t let it burn.  When it’s done, add more batter.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

 Dean stomped out the door and slammed it shut. Cas crossed his arms and took up Dean’s former position of glaring at the waffle iron.  When it dinged, he was sorely tempted to let it burn, but he opened the appliance and took out the fluffy waffle and put it on the waiting plate. His stomach grumbled as the sweet smelling steam wafted up to his nose.  He growled and griped as he poured more batter into the iron and closed the lid. He looked at the steaming waffle. Fuck Dean Winchester.  He was going to eat his waffle.  He started opening drawers to find a fork when he heard the door open.  He put his hands behind his back, trying to appear innocent.

 “Hey, Dean…”

 It was a man’s voice.  Dean’s new boyfriend?  Cas’ chest clenched tightly with pain.  He didn’t want to meet Dean’s new boyfriend.  He wondered if he could dart out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom without being seen.

 “I couldn’t find the brand you were talking about, but the bottle says it’s real maple—Cas!”

 Cas stopped his retreat and blinked in surprise at Sam Winchester.  He hadn’t seen the kid in so long.  And he wasn’t really a kid anymore.  Somehow a year and a half had filled him out into a kind of adult.  It hurt to see him because Cas had loved him like the goofy younger brother he’d never had.

 “Hey, Sam…um…I’m…”  He rubbed his arm, not sure what he should say or if he should apologize.

 Sam dropped his grocery bag on the floor and rushed forward to hug him.  Cas stood awkwardly frozen, confused by Sam’s affection.

 “I’m so glad to see you!  I’ve missed you!  And so has Dean.  Oh my God he’s been impossible to live with!  He was so broken after you two broke up.  He would barely leave his apartment for six months.  Then finally he just moved one day.  And he’s been angry and sad and I know it’s because he still loves you!  I’m glad he pulled his ass out his head and got over whatever your fight was about and called you.”  Sam pulled back and grinned at him.  “And based on your attire I assume you forgave his stupid ass and you guys made up! This is so great!”

 Cas stared at Sam…speechless.

 “Why is the door op—Sam!  Shit, I thought you weren’t coming over ‘til later.”

 “The farmers’ market was a bust today; I got done early.”

 “Well, um,” Dean waved a hand at Cas.  “He’s not, he wasn’t—“

 “You still love me?” Cas asked.

 Dean went rigid, his face losing some of its color. He looked at Sam.  “What did you—”  He looked back at Cas.  “No. No.  N-no.  Here are your clothes.”  He thrust the warm bundle into Cas’ arms.  “Get dressed and go.”

Sam looked between them awkwardly in the following silence.  The waffle iron dinged.  “I better check on that,” Sam said and scampered for the poor safety the small kitchen afforded him.

 Cas clutched his clothes tightly.  He looked into Dean’s eyes and saw the truth written in the sadness they exuded.  As hard and cold as his expression was, his eyes were showing how much misery this encounter was causing him.

 Cas looked away.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  For hurting you.  For calling you last night.  I’ll get out of your life.”

 Cas walked away, his eyes downcast.  He entered Dean’s bedroom and started to shut the door, but Dean’s hand kept it from closing.  He followed Cas into the room and then shut the door.

 “That’s it?” Dean asked.  “You’re just going to walk right back out of my life?”

 Cas was stunned by the sheer hurt and anger in Dean’s voice.  His expression was scary, but it was more because of the wretchedness on his features than any ill intentions toward Cas.

 “It must be even easier the second time, I guess. Wasn’t too hard the first.  Must not have cared as much as you kept insisting.”

 “I did care!” Cas shouted, anger flaring in his chest.  “You kept accusing me of not caring to make you feel better.  Because you couldn’t understand how what I did for a living had nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

 “But you’re the one who left!  You’re the one who just gave up and walked out on us!”

 “Excuse me?  What messed up version of events have you warped in your mind?  You wouldn’t forgive me!  There is no relationship if you’re going to hold your disgust and bitterness over me forever.”

 “You never apologized!  How could I forgive you?!”

 “Because I wasn’t sorry!  I was never ashamed of what I did.  Not until you made me feel like a whore.  Not until you told me that I wasn’t worth loving anymore.  That you’d rather I’d be dead than a cheating pervert!”

 “Shit, Cas, I was angry.  It was a shock!  You told me you were a prostitute!  How was I supposed to react?”

 “I wasn’t—!”  Cas groaned in frustration and threw his clothes on the bed.  He pulled off the boxers and began dressing.  “I can’t do this again.  I can’t have this same, horrible fight with you.  It’ll end the same way.  You’ll still hate me and be disgusted by me and wish you’d never met me and I don’t want to deal with that.  I don’t want to know how much you regret our relationship.”

 Cas hopped into his leather pants and wished he’d worn underwear and jeans last night because it was a little embarrassing to be hopping into tight pants and tucking his junk inside while trying to have a gut-wrenching emotional fight with someone.

 “As awful as it was when it came crashing down, I don’t regret the relationship, Dean.  I was happy. I fucking loved you.  I trusted you enough to tell you everything about myself and you—you rejected me.”

 Cas pulled the flimsy black tank top over his head and felt around his pockets.  His wallet and phone were missing.  They could have been stolen, but Dean probably just put them somewhere. He turned to demand to know where his belongings were, but he stopped when he saw Dean standing by the bureau, staring at the floor as tears streamed down his cheeks.

 “I don’t regret it either, Cas,” Dean said.

 Cas felt his chin tremble and his eyes sting. He shook himself.  He wasn’t going to cry again.  He promised himself he’d cried enough over Dean Winchester.  He crossed the small distance between them and took Dean’s face in his hands.  He wiped his tears away with his thumbs.

 “Don’t cry, Dean.  I’m not worth it.  You said as much yourself.”

 Dean turned away from him and cried harder.  “I regret saying that to you.  I regret everything I ever said to make you feel like trash.”

 “But, I am,” Cas said softly.  “You got proof of that last night,” he tried a laugh.  “You remember where you found me.”

 Dean turned suddenly and grabbed his shoulders. “You’re not—”  He took his face in his hands and kissed him.

 Cas was stunned for a moment, overwhelmed with the euphoria of kissing Dean Winchester.  It had always been like this.  Kissing Dean, holding him, touching him, being with him—

 Cas pulled away.  “Dean, don’t.  Come on, you know _this_ was never a problem.” He attempted a smile and dragged his lower lip through his teeth as he remembered exactly what it felt like to have Dean slide slowly into his body and take him gently and lovingly or wildly and passionately.  There was nothing physical that didn’t work for them.

 Dean nodded.  “Yeah…this was never the problem.  Nothing ever was.  Except…you let other men touch you.”

 “It was just a job.”

 “But it wasn’t.  It’s a turn on for you.  I know. You asked me to do it once and I couldn’t.  So, you did your job, but you also got from them what I could never give you.”

 “Dean, do you really think I was ever physically unsatisfied in our relationship?”

 “Physically?  No. But I know that that stuff has an emotional and mental component to it.  It’s more mental than it is physical, really.  And I’m not…I’m not really okay with that stuff.  So, if you couldn’t get it from me and you couldn’t get it from your job—because okay fine, I’m an unprogressive asshole but I wouldn’t have been okay with you continuing to do it—that would mean that you would eventually become unhappy.  And you’d resent me.”

 Cas’ brow creased and he looked at the floor. Dean kind of had a point.  If being with Dean meant never satisfying those desires anymore, would he still have been happy?  A part of him—a really big fucking part—thought that yes he would be. And he was angry at Dean for not allowing him the chance to find out.  Of course, maybe that would have hurt worse in the long run…

 “Dean…thank you for helping me last night.  For saving me.  I don’t know why you bothered—”

 “Because I fucking love you,” Dean said, his voice raw with a new wave of tears.  He turned away and leaned on his bureau, pressing his palms onto the unstained maple.

 The lump in Cas’ throat was too big to ignore now. “D-Dean…it…we can’t…what if we fuck it up again?  What if it hurts worse?”

 “Nothing could be worse than the last year and a half we’ve spent apart.”

 Cas had to agree.  Even though he’d felt like he’d gotten back to normal and went out with friends and partied and had a good time and enjoyed his new job as an event planner, he also knew that he’d been numb for months.  He was able to live like not being with Dean didn’t hurt him because he didn’t let anything hurt him.  Or make him happy or sad or excited.  He hadn’t felt anything real for at least a year.

 “We…it’s such a bad idea.  We can’t just…”

 “Maybe we can be friends first,” Dean cut him off. “Let’s just, get coffee sometime or see a movie.  Let’s just get used to talking to each other again.”

 Cas nodded.  “I think…I think we can do that.”

 Dean nodded and wiped his tears away.  Then he straightened and glanced at him, but wouldn’t let him see his face which was still crumbling with despair.  They were going to try to be friends, but that didn’t mean they were going to survive it.

 “You, uh, want some waffles?”  Dean asked.

 “I think it’d be best if I—”  Cas’ stomach growled loudly.  And for a comically prolonged moment.  “Um.”

 “Come eat brunch with us.  I’ll just make you explain to Sam why you can’t stay anyway.”

 Cas let out a small laugh.  “That’s just cruel, Winchester.”

 Dean gave him a small smile.  “Come on.  Waffles won’t last long around that human composter.”

 Dean opened the door and walked out of the room. Cas followed slowly, skeptical about the whole “starting over” thing working.  But if they were going back to the beginning, waffles wasn’t a bad place to start.


End file.
